Kitabı oku: «The Coming of the Law», sayfa 12
CHAPTER XX
THE “KICKER’S” CANDIDATE
The next issue of the Kicker contained many things of interest to its readers. Now that the drought had been broken, Union County could proceed with its business of raising cattle without fear of any future lack of water, with plenty of grass, and no losses except those from the usual causes. Dry Bottom merchants–depending upon the cattlemen for their trade–breathed easier and predicted a good year in spite of the drought. Their worries over, they had plenty of time–and inclination–to discuss the Kicker.
More advertisements were appearing in the paper. Dry Bottom merchants were beginning to realize that it deserved their support, and with few exceptions they openly began to voice their opinions that the editor would “make good.”’ The advertisements began to take on a livelier tone and the Lazette Eagle grew more sarcastic.
When the Kicker appeared following the incident in the sheriff’s office, there was a detailed account of Dunlavey’s now famous “ten day edict,” together with some uncomplimentary comments upon the latter’s action. This was signed by Hollis. He called attention to Dunlavey’s selfishness, to the preparations that had been made by him to shoot down all the foreign cattle on the Rabbit-Ear. He made no reference to his part in the affair–to his decision to allow the small ranchers to water their cattle in the river at the imminent risk of losing his own. But though he did not mention this, the small owners and his friends took care that the matter received full publicity, with the result that Hollis was kept busy assuring his admirers that the incident had been much magnified–especially his part of it. Then his friends applauded his modesty.
In the same issue of the paper was also related the story of Greasy’s capture by the Circle Bar men. But in telling this story Hollis was not so modest, for he spoke frankly of his part in it–how he had refused to allow his men to hang the thief, telling his readers that though Greasy deserved hanging, he did not purpose to violate the law while advocating it. Following the story of the capture was a detailed report of the incident in the sheriff’s office and a scathing commentary upon the subservience of the latter official to Dunlavey’s will. The article was entitled: “Handling the Law,” and Dunlavey’s exact words when he stood in the door of the sheriff’s office as Hollis and Norton departed were repeated.
Below this, under the rubric, “Union County Needs a New Sheriff,” appeared an article that created a sensation. This dwelt upon the necessity of the county having a sheriff who would not permit his office to be prostituted by any man or influence. The Kicker named a man who would not be bribed or cowed and declared that his name would appear on the ballot at the next election–to be held on the first Monday in November. At the end of the article he printed the man’s name–Ben Allen!
He had made this announcement without authority, and therefore he was not surprised, soon after the appearance of the issue containing the article, to see Allen’s tall figure darken the door of the Kicker office while he sat at his desk.
“Durn your hide!” cried the latter as he stood in the doorway; “you’re the biggest disturber in seven states!”
“Perhaps,” smiled Hollis, motioning Allen to a chair. “Still, you don’t need to thank me. You see, I have decided to clean up this county and I need some help. I supposed you were interested. Of course you may refuse if you like.”
“Refuse!” Allen’s eyes flashed as he took Hollis’s hand and wrung it heartily. “My boy,” he declared earnestly, “you couldn’t have done anything to suit me better. I’m just yearning to take a big hand in this game!”
“Interesting, isn’t it?” smiled Hollis.
“Some,” returned Allen. He grasped Hollis’s hand and wrung it heartily. “You’re a winner and I’m mighty glad to be able to work with you.” He spoke seriously. “Do you think there’s a chance for us to beat Dunlavey?”
Hollis laughed. “I flatter myself that a certain editor in this town stands rather well with the people of this county since a certain thing happened.”
“You sure do!” grinned Allen. “Lordy! how this county has needed a man like you!”
Hollis smiled. “Then you won’t object to being the Kicker’s candidate?” he inquired.
“Object!” returned Allen with mock seriousness. “Say, young man, if you don’t keep my name at the head of your editorial column from now till the first Monday in November I’ll come down here and manhandle you!”
And so it was arranged. Dry Bottom gasped in public but rejoiced in secret. Many of the town’s merchants personally congratulated Hollis.
But for two days following the appearance of the issue of the Kicker containing these sensations, Hollis stayed away from Dry Bottom. Now that he had launched Allen’s campaign and placed the other matters before his readers, he began to devote some attention to the problem of arranging for Ed Hazelton’s visit to the great Chicago surgeon. Both Nellie and Ed had been disappointed because of his continued absence, and when, on an afternoon a few days after his activity in Dry Bottom, he rode up to the Hazelton cabin his welcome was a cordial one.
“It seems like a year since I’ve seen you!” declared Hazelton as he came down from the porch to lead Hollis’s pony into the shade at the rear of the cabin.
While he was gone with the pony Hollis stood looking up at Nellie, who had remained seated in her chair on the porch and who was now regarding him with eyes in which shone unconcealed pleasure.
“It hasn’t really been so long, you know,” said Hollis, smiling at her. “But then, I have been so busy that I may not have noticed it.”
Of course she could not tell him how many times she had sat on the porch during Ed’s absences watching the Coyote trail. But she blushed and made room for him on the porch. Ed appeared presently and joined them there. The young man was not able to conceal his joy over the prospect of his ultimate recovery from the peculiar malady that afflicted him, and gratitude mingled with it as he looked at his benefactor. He had not recovered from an attack the day before.
“We’ve got it all arranged,” he told Hollis with a wan smile. “I’m going to Chicago just as soon as I can get things fixed.” He reddened with embarrassment as he continued: “There’s some things that I’d like to talk to you about before I make up my mind when to start,” he said; “I’ve been worrying about what to do with my stock while I’m gone. I wouldn’t want it to stray or be run off by Dunlavey’s gang.” The appeal in his eyes did not escape Hollis’s keen observation.
“I have thought of that too,” smiled the latter. “In fact, I have talked it over with Norton. He tells me that he won’t have any trouble in caring for your stock while you are away.”
“Thanks.” Hazelton did not trust himself to say more at that moment. He knew how great would be the task of caring for his stock during his absence, and had not Hollis come to his aid with this offer he would have had to give up the proposed trip. He sat silent until his composure returned, and then he looked up at Hollis gratefully.
“That will make things much easier for Nellie,” he said. And then, remembering that Hollis knew nothing of his intention to ask him for permission to allow Nellie to remain at the Circle Bar during his absence, he fell silent again.
“Easier?” inquired Hollis, puzzled. He had supposed that Nellie would accompany her brother to Chicago. He did not look at either of the two for a time. He had been anticipating a period of lonesomeness and this unexpected news came like a bright shaft of light into the darkness.
“But you can’t allow her to stay at the cabin alone!” he said when Ed did not answer. And then the thought struck him that this peculiar silence on Ed’s part could mean only one thing–that he and Nellie had decided that she was not to accompany him, and that the problem that was now confronting them–since he had told them that his men would care for the cattle–was the girl’s welfare. He appreciated the situation and smiled wisely into the yawning distance. But a deep sympathy made the smile grim.
“I have sometimes wondered how it were possible for a woman to live in this country without having close at hand one of her sex with whom to gossip,” he remarked, looking at Ed and deliberately closing an eye at him. “It doesn’t bother a man so much–this being alone. If he is a drinking man there are the saloons; if a poet he may write wise saws concerning the inconstancy of women; he may punch cows, another man’s head–or run a newspaper. In any case his mind is occupied.
“But a woman! Of course it is different with a woman. A woman must talk–she simply can’t help it. There’s Mrs. Norton. Only this morning I chanced to hear her remark to her lord and master that if he did not soon provide her with a companion with whom she might discuss the things which are dear to the feminine heart, he might as well make up his mind to requisition the mourners. All of which suggests the thought that perhaps it would not be a bad idea for Miss Hazelton to bundle up her things and advance on the Circle Bar. Thus two ends will be served–Mrs. Norton will secure her companion and Norton will find peace.” He turned to Nellie. “Of course if you are afraid that the cabin will stray during your absence I could manage to ride the Coyote trail each morning and evening–or you could ride over yourself occasionally.”
He could tell by the light in her eyes that she was pleased over the suggestion. He was sure of it when she smiled at him.
“If you really think that Mrs. Norton would like some one to talk to – ” she began, and then hesitated, her eyes suddenly widening as she saw an odd light in his. “Oh!” she said, “it isn’t true about Mrs. Norton wanting to talk. You have guessed that I–that Ed–wanted me to go – ” But confusion descended upon her and she flushed crimson with embarrassment.
“If you think it isn’t true, why don’t you ride over to the Circle Bar and inquire?” he smiled.
“Perhaps I may,” she replied, looking at him in mock defiance.
As a precaution against the carrying out of this threat, Hollis that night acquainted Mrs. Norton with the facts in the case, even going so far as to inform the lady brazenly that he had deliberately lied about her. But when she had been fully informed, she told Hollis that she did not blame him very much, and that should Nellie carry out her threat to come to her upon an errand having as its object a question of his veracity, she would assure the young lady that he had spoken the plain truth. Would that be sufficient?
Hollis told her that it would, and the following morning on his way to Dry Bottom, he took the Coyote trail and stopped off at the Hazelton cabin, where he informed Ed that he had decided to send Weary with him on his trip to Chicago.
Nellie spoke a few words to him while he lingered beside the porch, but her threat of the night before was not repeated and Hollis rightly guessed that it would never be carried out.
CHAPTER XXI
DUNLAVEY PLAYS A CARD
During the week following Ed Hazelton’s departure for Chicago Hollis did not see much of Nellie. In the few days preceding his departure she had not allowed her brother to see how his refusal to allow her to accompany him had hurt her, but once he had boarded the east-bound express at Dry Bottom, she had yielded to the emotions that she had so far succeeded in concealing. Hollis had ridden in to town with them, and not until Nellie and he had seen Ed and Weary safely on the train–indeed, not until the train was well under way and the two figures on the back platform could no longer be discerned–did Nellie break down. Then Hollis turned to her with a smile to see the sudden tears well up into her eyes. He had not attempted to console her, feeling the awkwardness of the situation.
He was much relieved when she refused his offer to make the return trip with her, for he was certain that a few hours alone in which to meditate over her loss would enable her to regain her composure. But before leaving her he secured her promise not to stop at the cabin, but to go on to the Circle Bar. On her arrival at the ranch she was to tell Norton to send one of the men to the cabin after the few personal effects that she had decided to transfer. But once out of Hollis’s sight Nellie forgot her promise through fear over the safety of her things. She took the Coyote trail, riding slowly through the clear sunshine of the morning.
After taking leave of Nellie Hollis rode slowly down the street to the Kicker office. He looked in through the window and seeing that Potter had not yet arrived, continued down to the court house. He talked for a few minutes with Judge Graney. Nothing new had developed. Ben Allen had gone to visit several small ranchers the day before and had not returned.
Hollis returned to the Kicker office. At noon Potter had arrived, bearing the news that he had seen Nellie Hazelton on the Coyote trail, within a few miles of the Circle Bar. She had stopped at her cabin and there were several bundles strapped to the cantle of her saddle.
That night Hollis did not see her at all. He did not inquire for her, but surmised that she was in her room. The next morning soon after he had awakened and while he still debated the question of arising, he heard her singing in the kitchen. He smiled, thinking how quickly she had adapted herself to her new surroundings.
At breakfast he looked closely at her several times, searching for evidence of her grief of yesterday. There was none. Therefore he was not surprised when, after breakfast, she told him that she intended riding with him as far as the cabin for the purpose of bringing the remainder of her effects. He gravely reminded her that she had broken her promise of yesterday, and that as a punishment he contemplated refusing her request. But when, an hour later, he urged his pony down the river trail she was riding beside him.
But she did not ride again that week. She did not tell Hollis the reason; that returning that evening she had reached the Razor-Back and was riding along its crest when she happened to glance across the Rabbit-Ear toward the Circle Cross. On the opposite side of the river she had seen two men, sitting quietly in their saddles, watching her. They were Dunlavey and Yuma. She did not know what their presence there meant, but the sight was disquieting and she feared to return to the cabin for the few things that were still here.
But as the days went her fears were dispersed. Time and the lure of her old home had revived her courage, and on a day about a week following her previous trip, she herself saddled and bridled her pony and set out over the Coyote trail toward her cabin.
She had not told Hollis of her intention to ride there, fearing that the knowledge of what she had seen on the day of the other ride would be revealed in her eyes. It was a good hour after noon when she stole out of the house to her pony, mounted, and rode away toward the river.
For many days she had been wondering at Dunlavey’s continued inaction. He had been known as an energetic enemy, and though at their last meeting in Dry Bottom he had threatened her and her brother, he had so far made no hostile move. Uusually he would go a considerable distance out of his way to speak to her. Perhaps, she thought, at their last meeting she had shown him that he was wasting his time. Yet she could not forget that day when she had seen Yuma and Dunlavey on the Circle Cross side of the Rabbit-Ear. The sight somehow had been significant and forbidding.
But when she reached her cabin she had forgotten Dunlavey and Yuma; her thoughts dwelt upon more pleasant people. Had she done right in allowing Hollis to see that she was interested in him? Would he think less of her for revealing this interest? She could not answer these questions, but she could answer another–one that brought the blushes to her cheeks. Why had Hollis shown an interest in her? She had known this answer for a long time–when she had read Ace’s poem to him while sitting on the porch beside him, to be perfectly accurate. She had pretended then to take offense when he had assured her that Ace had succeeded in getting much truth into his lines, especially into the first couplet, which ran:
“Woman–she don’t need no tutor,
Be she school ma’am or biscuit shooter.”
The language had not been graceful, nor the diction, yet she knew that Ace had struck the mark fairly, for woman indeed needed no tutor to teach her to understand man–woman had always understood him.
She dismounted from her pony at the edge of the porch, hitching the animal to one of the slender porch columns. Then she went into the house to gather up the few things that still remained there.
But for a long time after entering the cabin she sat on a chair in the kitchen, sobbing softly, for now that Ed had gone she felt the desolation of the country more than ever. Presently she rose and with a start looked out of the door. The dusk had fallen; darkness was stealing into the valley around the cabin!
Flitting here and there, she hurriedly began packing things which she took from shelves and racks. It was an engrossing task and she was much interested in it, so much so that she did not hear a slight sound at the door that led out to the front porch. But when she saw a shadow darken the doorway of the room in which she was working she stood suddenly erect and with rapidly beating heart stole softly forward and peered around the door-jamb. Of course it could be no one but Hollis. He had taken the Coyote trail to-night. He would be surprised to see her.
But it was she who was surprised. Yuma stood near the table in the center of the kitchen, looking straight at her, his insolent, evil face drawn into a foreboding smile.
After the first gasp of horror and surprise a righteous anger stiffened her.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Yuma’s evil smile grew. She had seen him often, usually at a distance, for she had abhorred him, with his olive skin, his thin, cruel lips and small glittering eyes. He had always seemed like an animal to her, though she could not have told why. She thought it must be something in his attitude, in the stoop which was almost a crouch, in the stealthy, cat-like manner in which he walked. She had spoken to Ed about him more than once, conveying to him her abhorrence of the man, and he had told her that he felt the same about him. She shuddered now, thinking of what her brother had told her of the man’s cruelty. Dunlavey had often boasted that Yuma was the most venomous and bloodthirsty of his crew of cut-throats.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated, her anger growing.
Yuma laughed softly. “I saw you ridin’ the Razor Back the other day,” he said, showing his teeth as the words came–even, smooth, burdened with a subtle mockery. “I saw you again thees afternoon–but you not see me like the other day–I watch you thees long.” He held up three fingers to denote that he had watched her three hours. She shuddered, suddenly realizing the significance of his attitude that day she had seen him from the Razor Back.
“Ed gone,” he continued, watching her narrowly; “nobody here; I come. I like you–much.” He grinned, his eyes brightening. “I reckon you know–you girl that understan’?”
She drew a slow deep breath. Curiously enough, next to the horror and doubt that she felt over Yuma’s presence at the cabin was a wonder for the idioms of cowboy speech that were interjected with his own. He had caught them from association, she supposed. She made a pretense of boldness, though she felt more like screaming.
“Leave this cabin!” she commanded sharply.
Yuma did not change his position. “Leave heem?” he laughed. “I theenk not. Dunlavey says me come here–make um love me–same as tenderfoot noospaper man!” He laughed again, exultantly. “Dunlavey say you spark tenderfoot–you spark me!”
She trembled, realizing that a crisis was at hand and that she must meet it boldly. She thought of the ivory-handled weapon in the holster at her hip and involuntarily her right hand dropped to its butt. She had learned to shoot, but she had never yet shot at a man and she drew her hand away from the butt of the weapon with a shudder. Yuma had been watching her closely, his evil little eyes glittering, and when he saw her hand drop away he laughed derisively.
“You no shoot heem!” he said. “You ’fraid. Dunlavey say he reckon you no shoot–say you make love to um right away!”
He smiled significantly and took a step toward her. She made an involuntary step backward and her right hand again sought the butt of the revolver, the left closing on the edge of the door that opened into her room. Terror had given her courage and as Yuma continued to advance with a soft, cautious, cat-like sliding movement, she drew the revolver and presented it, though her hand wavered a little.
“If you take another step toward me, Yuma, I will kill you!” she declared.
She saw his little eyes glitter with decision, saw him measure the distance between them, saw him crouch for a spring.
She fired, aiming at the lower edge of the scarf that sagged at his throat. The smoke from the pistol blinded her; she heard his laugh, heard the rush of his feet as he hurled himself forward. Terror stricken over her failure to hit him, she dropped the pistol and whirled, grasping the edge of the door and slamming it shut in his face. She felt his weight against it, but he had been taken by surprise by the movement; there was the strength of desperation in her body and she held the door closed against him while she shoved the fastenings into place.
Then, suddenly overcome, she leaned weakly against the jamb, her heart thumping hard, her nerves tingling.
For a long time she did not move, and there came no sound from the other side of the door to tell her of Yuma’s movements. There was a wild hope in her heart that he had gone, but presently, becoming a little calmer, she pressed her ear against the door. There was no doubt of Yuma’s presence; she could hear him stepping softly about the room. Had there been a window in the room in which she had imprisoned herself she might have escaped, but unfortunately there was not.
She fell to thinking of the revolver she had dropped when Yuma had sprung upon her. It must have dropped very close to the door. Had Yuma picked it up? There was a chance that he had not. If the weapon were still there and she could open the door and secure it and close the door again, she would be in a position to defend herself. She could not defend herself without it. If Yuma should burst the door open she would be at his mercy. She must get the revolver.
Convinced of this she stood for some little time at the door, her ear pressed against it, listening for any sound that might tell her of the whereabouts of Yuma in the cabin. She heard nothing. Perhaps he had gone? But she listened a while longer, determined to be certain before loosening the fastenings of the door. Silence–a premonitory silence–filled the room beyond the door. She could hear nothing except her own rapid breathing. Presently she heard a horse whinny. Was Yuma at the horses? It seemed incredible that any man should visit the cabin purposely to attack her. Perhaps Yuma had only intended to frighten her; he had said that Dunlavey had told him to follow her, but she believed that Dunlavey, in spite of his reputation for lawlessness and trickery, was not so unmanly as to incite the half-breed to attack her. He may have told him to steal the horses–she could believe that of him!
But for a long time, in spite of the quieting influence of these thoughts, she kept her ear pressed against the door. Then, moved by a sudden impulse–an accession of courage inspired by the continued silence–she cautiously loosened the fastenings and swung the door slowly open.
Her revolver lay close and with a swift movement she reached for it. As her fingers grasped its butt she heard a slight sound and Yuma was upon her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She felt his breath on her neck, heard his laugh, exultant and derisive, mocking her. His right hand, gripping hers tightly, was slipping slowly down toward the hand that held the revolver. She struggled desperately, squirming and twisting in his grasp, silently matching her strength against his. Finding this hopeless and feeling his hand gradually slipping toward the revolver, she suddenly raised her hand toward her face, bringing Yuma’s hand, still on her arm, with it. Then she dropped her head to his arm near the wrist, and sank her teeth savagely into the flesh.
Yuma howled in anguish, loosening his hold momentarily. In an instant she had wrenched herself free and had bounded to the center of the room, placing the kitchen table between herself and her assailant.
But he was after her with a bound, his little eyes gleaming with a venomous expression, his face contorted with passion. She raised the revolver and fired. For a breathless instant she thought that she had hit him, for he sank almost to the floor. But she saw that it was only a trick for he was up again on the instant, a mocking smile on his face and closer than ever. She fired again, and when she saw him sink to the floor she pulled the trigger a second time. He had been very close to the table when she fired the last time and before she could press the trigger again he had lurched forward under it, raising it on his shoulders and sending it crashing down behind him as he confronted her, his evil face close to hers, his hands again gripping her arms.
She fought him silently, and together they reeled around the cabin. She bit him again, and then in an outburst of savage fury he brutally twisted the arm in which she still held the revolver, sending the weapon crashing to the floor. While twisting her arm he had been compelled to loosen his grasp of the other slightly, and she again wrenched herself free and darted toward the door leading to the porch. But he bounded forward, intercepting her, and with a last, despairing effort she raised both hands to his face and clawed furiously at his eyes.
She heard a savage curse from him, saw the lust of murder in his little, glittering eyes, felt his sinewy fingers at her throat. Then objects within the cabin swam in a dizzy, blurring circle before her. She heard a crash–seeming to come from a great distance; heard Yuma curse again. And then, borne resistlessly forward by the weight of his body, she tumbled to the floor in an inert heap.
